The highly anticipated third season of "Westworld" had a lot of intriguing storylines to follow: the hosts escaping the digitally imposed perimeter of the park, an injection of free will into the AI infrastructure, the interaction of hosts with the larger human world ... hell, even the arrival of Aaron Paul in what appeared to be some sort of John Connor-like role.
A short eight episodes later, the plot was too convoluted to work out, it was difficult to determine which role each character was playing, and Paul had been reduced to a bystander for giant swaths of the season. Even the show's strongest character, Bernard (Jeffrey Wright), was sidelined for much of this run of episodes.
And yes, the sci-fi was overwhelming, Dolores (Evan Rachel Wood) and Maeve (Thandie Newton) were stunning to look at, and there was credibility baked into a society hyper-reliant on the facade that digital media had shrink-wrapped over everything. And Marshawn "Beast Mode" Lynch popping up every few episodes was an admitted joy.
But somewhere along the way, creators Lisa Joy and Jonathan Nolan fell in love with the special effects and the world-building and never stopped to consider whether the plot even made sense anymore. Sure, there were impassioned speeches about how the world is still worth saving and constant reminders that human acts of kindness and self-determination can change our course, but too often these felt like window dressing ... interludes between the next car crash or mangled body. Minus true passion and logic, these plot points lost impact.
Basically, the show has morphed into an entity like a relationship where memories of the glory days keep you coming back and thinking it must be worth it to find the point. So yes, I'm saying "Westworld" is like many of my ex-girlfriends: Beautiful to look at and fun to spend time with, but ultimately heartless and impossible to understand.
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